


Waiting

by FaerieChild



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond has taken to hanging around Q branch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

~

He had been there every night for the past two weeks, quietly waiting. Every night when his work was done, James Bond would come down to Q branch and stand quietly near Q. Not near enough to be creepy, but near enough to be close. The sort of indeterminate distance, the length of a desk one might say, to be neither too close yet too far.

The Quartermaster hadn't said anything, because Bond hadn't said anything. James would quietly come down and watch Q work or read a book or make them tea and then he would sit quietly or, more often, standing with his back against the wall tinkering with some object he had found lying around and waiting for Q to say something.

Q found Bond's presence odd, at first. After a few days he began to find it comforting. As the clock turned to six o'clock there he would appear and make them both tea and stand silently, turning some gadget over in his hands as Q worked. Sometimes Q would try to make conversation but more often than not Bond wasn't interested and eventually the one-word answers petered off until Q decided it was time to go home and began to lock up. Bond would wait for him and carry his laptop bag and walk him to the entrance where he would offer Q a lift and Q would insist on getting the bus and James would wait until it arrived before going on his way.

And for whatever reason this had been happening every work night for the past two weeks and Q had never given it a moment's thought. He would accept his laptop bag from 007 and politely decline the offer of a lift and promise to see him tomorrow and James would stand there silently while Q got on the bus and the bus drove away until five o'clock the next day when once more James would appear.

Yet for some reason on this particularly rainy Wednesday evening, when Q took a moment to pause from his work and listen to the rain streaming down the pipes in the walls he stopped and watched Bond turning a gun sight in his hand.

“Bond?”

“Hmm?” Bond looked up and suddenly those piercing ice-blue eyes were fixated on his and Q found himself lost for words, unable to speak.

“I only wondered...” Q began and then thought the better of it.

Bond stared at him curiously.

“Never mind,” Q mumbled. He faked a smile and then began tidying his desk. By the time Q had finished closing up Bond had his over coat on and was waiting with Q's parka and cat. “Where did she appear from?”

“The boiler room.”

“Of course she did.” Q reached for the cat basket and Bond obligingly handed it over while the cat inside miaowed and said hello. “Sit still, Margaret.”

“You named your cat Margaret?”

“Margaret Hamilton. Why?”

“No reason. Let me carry her.”

“I'm fine, Bond, honestly.”

“Then I'll get the doors. Only one today?”

“Alan wanted to stay at home. He's a bit of a home body.”

“Your cats are named Margaret and Alan?”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Bond smiled to himself. “Nothing at all.”

They walked through winding maze of doors, corridors and levels to the surface where they emerged on the banks of the Thames near to Q's bus stop. In the moonlight the puddles glistened as cars and buses splashed their way through the potholes and Q prepared to settle in at the bus stop until the next bus came in – he checked the screen – six minutes.

“You don't have to wait with me, Bond.”

“I don't mind.”

“No, you never do,” Q mused.

They waited in silence, the rumble of the city on an autumn night carrying on around them. Cars, buses, sirens. The hustle and bustle of human life.

“Apollo 11,” James Bond announced into the darkness.

“Excuse me?”

“Margaret Hamilton. She programmed the computer for Apollo 11.”

“You just looked that up on Google,” Q chastised him.

Bond leaned closer, “There's no signal underground.”

“I know.”

“I believe its called 'using your initiative.”

Q hummed in a manner that might be alternately disapproval or disinterest. It was hard to tell.

“Margaret Hamilton took us to the moon,” Bond observed. He nodded skywards and there it was, the harvest moon, hanging low and bright in the sky as it rose over the city.

Q nodded. In the background, further up the street, a bus rumbled along.

“Well,” Bond's leather gloves appeared and he slid one onto each hand, fisting his fingers to test the leather. “That's my cue. Would you like a lift?”

“No, thank you.”

“Alright, then.” Bond turned to leave and Q turned to face the approaching bus when for some reason on that particular night Q turned back around and called after James Bond but he was already gone and then the bus pulled up and the doors opened and Q stepped up. He looked one last time but Bond was lost to him. Lost to the darkness.

 

The next day, as expected, he was there again. Alan had deigned to join him that morning while Margaret decided that a nap on Q's favourite armchair was the only way worth spending the day after a long day's mousing at Q Branch the day before.

Bond turned up at five o'clock and Alan decided to investigate him for any prospect of treats. Bond, the big softie that he was, gave in. “I thought you said he stays at home,” Bond spoke to Q while fussing over Alan's ears.

“He does, for the most part. Every so often he has a day where he decides to go on an adventure. Today was one such day.”

“I think I like Alan.”

Q personally thought that Alan was too damned smart for his own good but he thought the better of saying anything and instead started shutting down his work. He had made good progress today and he was exhausted. He would go home, catch up on some reading and pick it up again tomorrow.

Bond straightened up, taking the cat with him. “Going already?”

“It's a good place to stop at,” Q replied. “I'll come in early tomorrow.”

Without asking Bond lowered Alan into the cat basket while Q fetched his parka.

“I've never once asked, you know,” Q said as he started turning the lights off.

“Asked what?”

“What you're doing here. Why you come down here.” Q pulled his laptop bag over one shoulder and picked up the cat basket with the other.

“I like the company.”

Before Q could formulate a proper response at this new information in light of the odd routine they had developed, Bond was opening the door for him and they were making their way out through the now familiar maze of tunnels and doorways. Behind Q, Bond trotted with an astonishing lightness of foot for someone who was in his forties until they emerged onto the bank and then up to the bus stop where Bond checked his watch and compared it to the wait time at the bus stop.

The bus stop said it was three minute wait until the next bus and silence descended. Bond offered a lift, Q politely declined. Beside him, Bond pulled on his gloves.

One minute.

“You say you come down because you like the company and then you just stand around.”

“I'm waiting. Stand still.” Bond stepped closer to Q.

“What are you doing?”

But it was too late. Q's great surprise, Bond stepped forwards as the bus drew into the stop and in the light of the opening doorway, zipped up Q's jacket for him and adjusted his scarf. There was something familiar and slightly domestic about it in a way that generated a warm feeling in Q's belly. “There,” Bond announced.

Q looked up at him.

“You'll get cold.”

Q stared at Bond as the bus pulled up and the door opened.

The bus driver harumphed in the background. “Are you getting on or not, mate?”

Q got on and scanned his Oyster card and kept eye contact with Bond until the bus was out of sight.

At home Margaret was restless after being inside all day and Q couldn't get Bond's words out of his mind. “Waiting? Waiting for what?”

 

He tossed and turned in bed that night and couldn't settle and when he finally woke up about an hour before dawn he hardly felt rested at all. Q made his way into Q branch as usual and at five o'clock Bond appeared and tucked himself into a corner with a book by Aldous Huxley and Margaret went to join him and curled up in his lap and when Q was ready to go Bond was there, helping Q put on his coat and negotiating Margaret into her travelling crate. Q deliberately left his coat half-zipped in the hope that Bond would see fit to zip it up for him but he never did. He walked Q to the bus stop as always, putting on his leather gloves as soon as they reached the cold of the outside.

“Would you like a lift?”

“No, thank you Bond. I'm quite all right.”

“I know,” Bond said.

Q wondered what he meant by that and half expected the other man to go but Bond didn't leave at that point, Bond waited until the bus turned up only the bus didn't turn up. It was ten minutes late and when it finally arrived there were so many people on it that Q doubted it was physically possible to get more people on it.

“Tube strike,” The driver explained. “Started an hour ago.”

Q stared in bewilderment at the multi-storey sardine tin masquerading as public transport.

The bus driver stared back expectantly.

“I can't get on that!” Q exclaimed. “I have a cat!”

The bus driver shrugged. “Suit yourself mate.”

And with that the doors closed and the bus pulled away. Q was left standing on a wet pavement with a satchell in one hand and a cat carrier in the other. Dumbly he turned around to face James who smiled warmly and reached out for Margaret's pet carrier. “Come on. I'll give you a lift.”

“Why do you always offer me a lift anyway? Don't you have better things to be doing?”

“Not really. Car's just over here.”

“I know where your car is,” Q said, pushing up his glasses. “You park it in my garage.”

“So I do,” Bond grinned. “Come along, Quartermaster.”

“I'm not a child.”

“No, you're cuter,” Bond teased.

“Bond...!”

“I'll get you home and there'll be tea and I'll even throw in dinner, how does that sound?”

“Rather alarming, all told,” Q deadpanned. “Oh, alright then. I am sort of desperate. But if Margaret Hamilton gets car sick I'm holding you accountable.”

“Margaret goes on the bus all the time, why would she get sick in my car?”

“Because bus drivers don't drive like a drunk highlander on speed.”

“I think you'll find I take very good care of my passengers, Q, but if you'd rather, you can drive.”

“Oh God! Please don't make me drive in London!” The blood drained from Q's face at the very prospect of having to face the London traffic. “On second thoughts, a lift sounds wonderful?”

“My pleasure,” Bond smiled. He led the way to the car park and pressed the key. A few metres away his car bleeped at him in welcome and the doors unlocked.

It was with some trepidation that Q lowered himself into Bond's car. He had, after all, seen the man's driving many times through a camera lens. Bond, meanwhile, took great pains to see that the cat carrier and Q's satchell were both secure and once they were off the Quartermaster was surprised by quite how smooth Bond's driving could be when he made an effort. In fact, riding shotgun in Bond's car was a quiet, comfortable experience that was bewilderingly uneventful and Q blinked in surprised when they pulled up outside his flat without having blown something up, driven someone off the road or destroyed half of London. He stared at Bond who smiled back smugly.

“Would you like me to carry Margaret?”

“No. Thankyou. I can manage from here. Thank you for the lift.”

Bond watched Q get out and decided to hang around, as much for the entertainment value as anything else. Standing on the pavement, Bond watched as Q juggled his cat and his satchell and tried to figure out a way of getting his door key out of his bag without putting Margaret down. Eventually Bond walked up to him, slid his hand into Q's sarchell himself and drew out the key.

“Oh,” Q muttered.

Bond unlocked the door for him and handed the key back.

“I always knew those pickpocketing skils would come in handy.”

“Who taught you to pick pockets?”

“Alec.”

Q rolled his eyes, “Of course he did.”

Bond didn't know if he was welcome or not, but Q made no mention when Bond followed him over the threshhold and inside. He waited for Q to say something but the man just dumped his stuff at the door and walked headlong to the kitchen to pop the kettle on.

“If I was a girl, Bond, I'd think you were up to something.”

“Up to what.”

“You're being suspiciously gentleman-like.”

“Suspiciously?”

“Opening doors for me. Carrying things for me. Did you notice that you walked on the roadside of the pavement all the way to the carpark?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Q paused and blinked at Bond. “Bond in case you haven't noticed, I'm male.”

“I noticed,” Bond slid a hand inside his pocket and began sniffing around the kitchen, inspecting the pots of salt and pepper, the jars of teabags along one shelf and the odd assortment of home-made kitchen gadgets. It appeared that Q enjoyed tinkering at home as much as he did in the office.

“Just checking.” Q wandered off to find a tea bag to his liking and asked Bond if he wanted coffee. Bond agreed that he did. “Its just that its rather difficult, you see. You know. To...” Q faltered. “To keep persepective, I suppose.”

“Perspective on what?”

“On you, Bond,” Q snapped. “God knows I would much rather be at home tinkering away on a laptop than being out on a date somewhere but it doesn't mean that one doesn't yearn for a bit of human company from time to time and I just think that by behaving the way you are, you're in danger of confusing things.”

“I'm not confused.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Q turned around poured the tea on the teabag and set it aside in order to start making Bond's coffee. “Bond I've never hidden the fact that I'm gay but I'm not exactly the grindr type if you catch my drift. What I'm trying to politely say is that I'm in danger of inadvertently getting the wrong end of the stick here, in spite of myself. You know very well you're a good looking man and I wouldn't want there to be any misunderstanding between us.”

Bond took a step closer. “There's no misunderstanding, Q.” His voice was soft, a gentle caress that made Q shudder.

“I'm not some conquest, Bond. I've been that person who plays someone else's experiment. I'm worth more than that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Then why are you trying to confuse me?”

Bond crossed his arms and leaned against the counter beside Q. It was an oddly intimate stance, as if they were used to sharing the same space, the way that lovers might. Precisely the sort of thing that kept throwing Q when Bond decided to start hanging around.With Bond standing so close Q had some difficulty concentrating. Really, he was too old for this sort of nonsense. Crushing on older men who were straight and out of reach. In an awkward, strained silence, Q made Bond coffee while Bond turned over some small ornament in his hand that he'd found sitting around the kitchen worktop.

“I like you,” Bond announced out of the blue.

“Sorry?”

Bond glanced sideways at Q, “Its been a long time since I was attracted to a man.”

Q slowly put down the coffee and blinked heavily.

Bond was staring off into the distance, not meeting his eye. “And its a bit of a hopeless case at this point so I thought if I hung around it might...alleviate the symptoms, somewhat. Besides which, I thought if it was something you wanted you would eventually have said something. I'm sorry if I caused you any discomfort.”

This was turning out to be quite possibly the most surreal night of Q's life. “I'm sorry, I thought you said...just to be clear here, you're telling me you _like me,_ like me?”

Bond responded with a withering look. It was absolutely clear he hated putting his feelings into words. If they could deal with this whole thing without saying a thing Q had no doubt that James Bond would prefer it but Q was sewn from different cloth. He needed to know precisely what was going on here.

“You said before that you were waiting. You were waiting on me. To what? Notice? Ask you out? Develop psychic powers?” Q snapped at Bond but the wince that immediately crossed the other man's face made him wish he hadn't. Bond looked oddly vulnerable. Q knew from the files it wasn't very often that someone like James Bond fell in love and in every previous incidence the episode had ended in heartbreak.

Bond took in a breath and then pushed himself off the kitchen counter. “Right,” He stated. “Well, now that's out in the open I suppose this is probably the moment I should make a strategic retreat.”

Q grabbed Bond's shoulders and put him back where he'd been standing. “Don't you dare, James Bond. I've been crushing on you since I met you, you horrible, horrid man. Do you have any idea of the torture I've been through these last weeks having you hanging around every night. If I masturbate in the shower one more time I'm going to get a repetitive strain injury!”

James Bond let out a snort. A smile pulled at his lips. A sideways glance slipped out.

“If I have to tie you to a chair, you're going to stay here until we've sorted this out.”

Bond's eyebrows rose.

“Don't give me that look,” Q snapped. “Why on earth didn't you say something?”

The coffee was laid on the table along with biscuits. Once Q had sat down however and had a hot cup of tea in him the day began to catch up with him and the conversation fell by the way side. Bond got up then, promising to make them both some pasta and quickly rustled up a meal of pasta with tomato sauce and cheese from the ingredients in Q's kitchen. All the while Q snapped and chastised him and Bond smiled at Q's angry kitten routine. After all, Q wouldn't be nearly so upset if Q didn't care.

The angry kitten however, was hugely placated by being fed and as soon as the first mouthful hit his lips he moaned in pleasure. Instead of kicking him out, Bond's ability to blend into any situation came to good use when Q started to get sleepy. Now that he was home and warm and dry and fed, it wasn't long before the Quartermaster started yawning. Bond ushered away all the dishes to the sink and herded Q upstairs and into his pyjamas.

With Q falling asleep on his feet, James Bond guided him into bed and tucked him in. Q's eyes were dropping closed before his head had even hit the pillow and Alan and Margaret had used the opportunity to climb up on the bed with him snuggling into his side on top of the duvet.

“Good night, James,” Q mumbled.

Gently, James Bond kissed his forehead and fondled Q's dark, unruly locks. “Goodnight, Quartermaster.” As he drew away, Q's arm came out and snagged him.

“Where do you think you're going?”

That was how James ended up climbing into the empty side of Q's bed in only his trunks and as soon as he was under the covers Q snuggled up to him, clinging like a limpet.

“My James,” He muttered in his sleep.

James wound his arm around his waist where Q's slim form lay against his chest. At the foot of the bed Alan and Margaret snuggled up together although James had a feeling they would end up on the pillow by morning.

Beside him a sleepy Quartermaster's brain was shutting down and as it did so, every so often a quiet thought would slip out. “We should have sex, sometime.” Q muttered.

James let his hand wander up and down the Quartermaster's bare back. “We should.”

“I've been waiting, you know.”

James chuckled warmly and kissed Q's dark curls. “I know, love. Me too.”

In the darkness Q slipped into sleep. James lay awake a while longer, listening to the sounds of the city. The quiet rumble of traffic, the chirrup of night birds, the far off wail of a siren. The white moonlight and shadows reminded James of a saying and he smiled to himself as he held his love in his arms. It was true after all.

Good things come to those who wait.

~


End file.
